


A Little Push

by frapandfurious, squire



Series: Big Brothers AU [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anakin Skywalker backstory, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Flower Language, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Miscommunication, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Ruined Marriage Proposal, Younger Siblings To The Rescue, temporary break-up, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frapandfurious/pseuds/frapandfurious, https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben and Armitage realise they're in over their heads...</p><p>... and it's up to Rey and Techie to salvage what they can. </p><p>They will make it better... even if they have to make it worse first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crumbling Down

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel/midquel to [Small Forces](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7586278/chapters/17262223), the first work in this series. Remember that innocent "six years later" line that stood between their first meeting and their wedding?
> 
> This is what happened along the way.

The shrill beeping of alarm clock cuts through the warm cocoon of soft blankets and hazy dreams, pulling Ben reluctantly awake. He blindly swipes the offending sound off and blinks blearily at the notification on the phone screen. Six a.m. KOR practice. Right.

"Hhphrrrmmm," the mop of ginger hair currently resting on his chest rumbles a muffled protest at the movement.  Ben presses a kiss to the top of that sleep-mussed head and tries to slip out of bed. Long arms, heavy with the morning hour, wrap around his middle in retaliation. For a military man, Hux is surprisingly fond of a lazy morning lie-in.

"Gotta go, 'Tidge," Ben whispers, grinning in anticipation of the reaction this silly nickname never fails to elicit. Sure enough, there's a tiny kitten growl, bony ankles lock around Kylo's knees and sharp teeth graze whichever skin happens to be closest to Hux's mouth - in this case, the little hollow under Ben's collarbone. Ben giggles - he can't help it, the way Hux's morning stubble tickles his chest - and Hux lifts his head enough to give him a sleepy, pillow-soft glare, his eyelashes translucent in the early morning light filtered through the window blinds.

"Could you not wriggle around?" he commands, about as imperious as a lazy cat. "I am trying to sleep here."

"Okay..." Ben melts back into the mattress, only too happy to concede to the combined weight of Hux's warm body and his own sleepiness. "Five more minutes..."

 

***

 

It's good three quarters of an hour later when Ben finally leaves, the back of Hux's neck still tingling with the phantom touch of the last lingering kiss Ben had pressed there. Hux rolls over the now too wide, too cold bed and gropes around on the floow for his phone. His inbox is still loaded from when he had thrown away the phone in disgust last night, and the offending e-mail still taunts him from the top line.

 _Well, you didn't think it would disappear if you avoided it long enough, did you?_ He hears the sneering voice in his head that sounds a lot like his father. Scowling, Hux tosses the phone back on the floor and buries his face in the pillows. They still smell like Ben.

 

***

 

The door to their studio rattles in its hinges under the rhythmic assault of the music blaring from the massive speakers inside. Ben shoulders it open, the bag with his things dangling from one elbow while the other is still tangled inside the collar of the T-shirt pulled half-way over his head.

The music stops. Ben manages to free his face from the mess of his shirt, tugs it down - the wrong side out - and meets the collective unimpressed stare of his friends.

"That's the third time this month alone you're late, boss," Pete, the oldest among them, cuts short the awkward silence.

"I know," Ben sighs, "I'm sorry guys. Look, it ain't easy–"

"Imagine that!" Another one of them retorts. "God knows it ain't easy managing this _and_ college."

"Or a job."

"Or both, you know."

"Shut up, over-achiever."

"The point is," Pete puts in, silencing the budding squabble, "that everyone here is making fucking sacrifices of some kind to keep this dancing group going. That's why we agreed on this ungodly hour for morning practices, remember? So that Joey here wouldn't miss lectures and Manu could work evening shifts in _Renegados_ and Mike could visit his old man in the oncology ward every night. We are here 'cause we care."

Ben hangs his head low. Pete's right. His friends - the Knights of Ren - are no longer the highschoolers they were when he started the group at eighteen. They've grown up, have their own lives now, and yet they keep trying to make this work. He understands the unspoken question tacked on to Pete's tirade: _Boss, don't you care anymore?_

He does, he really does. It's just that their mornings are all he has with Hux on same days. They're both busy - Ben had started teaching street and modern dance in a community centre for children and Hux is a Captain now. The rank has some nice perks to it - like the privilege to rent his own place outside of the barracks - but with it comes also the duty to train new officers at the Academy. Hux also doesn't want to abandon his academic research. The funding going into weapon development has been undercut lately but Hux maintains that the applicability of his solar energy engineering ideas in the civil industry is worth expanding.

Ben didn't even notice how much he cared about time with Hux until it became preciously rare. And now... he's struck with the realisation that his Knights might be right. He really doesn't care for dancing as much as he used to. Dancing was once his life. Hux seems to be his life now, and Ben has no idea when that happened.

 

***

 

Hux paces the length of his living room, twice up and down, the ringing phone in hand. On the third turn he pushes through a determined breath and swipes the screen to answer it. "Yes, sir?"

_"Armitage. What is it that I've heard about you and the overseas mission assignment?"_

Damn it. Of course it had to be about this. Of course his father would pull the strings of his old contacts on the Academy to snoop this out.

"There's been an offer for a year in Iraq, yes," Hux says noncommittally, in the best passive voice he can muster.

_"And how come I get to hear about it from that old hag Sloane and not from my own son?"_

"I haven't decided yet if I want to accept it, sir."

_"Nonsense boy. Of course you'll take it. A Hux never shrinks the duty to his country."_

Hux rolls his eyes at the tone - years of retirement have done nothing to rid his father of his habit to speak with his family the same way he used to speak to the young and terrified Cadets.

"It's an offer, not an order, sir. There's plenty of experienced officers to fill that position."

_"Since when you let others reap the chances that have been handed to you? Do I have to remind you that a deployment to Iraq means certain promotion, Captain?"_

"I am thirty. What would you want me to be, a General?" Hux asks, impatient sarcasm seeping into his tone.

His father, however, takes him completely seriously. _"I haven't trained you to slack, boy."_

"There are better uses for me than a year of getting shot at in a desert, Father." But even as he says it, he knows it's a weak argument.

_"Don't 'Father' me, Armitage! I believe I'd taught you better than that. But apparently there's only so much one can do against your mother's genes..."_

"I'll thank you to leave my mother out of this," Hux intones, voice perfectly calm. The skin of his palm stings and he forces his fingers to unfurl.

_"So what is it, then? What's keeping you from engaging your full potential? Is it that - that good-for-nothing dancer you keep seeing? I've been turning a blind eye so far, boy, because God knows society standards have dropped so low these days that I fear for the fate of this country - but as far as it doesn't compromise your station, I don't mind who's warming your bed. But I won't stand for you to let it jeopardise your future..."_

Hux tunes the rest of the rant out. It's nothing he hasn't rehearsed already a hundred times in his own head.

Five years ago, he'd have snatched this opportunity without a second thought. Hell, he might even have cleverly disposed of any obstacle standing between him and this assignment. Even now, the idea has a certain thrill. Hux is enough his opportunistic father's son to see the pros - boost up the ranks, not to mention the financial benefits. But the cons... why is it so hard to think of them?

He flops down onto the sofa, eyes squeezed shut, and tries to organise his thoughts and to weight the situation in that detached and effective manner he'd spend a lifetime cultivating.

Personal safety? That doesn't bother him, not really. Iraq is much safer these days, the continuous withdrawal of forces from the hot ground areas lessening the actual chances of getting shot. Personal comfort? Hux scoffs at it. He can survive a year in tents and on rations. If it were about him alone...

And that's it. It's not about him alone anymore. He's not afraid of danger, he's not afraid to _go._ He just hesitates to _leave_...

He turns his head and instinctively rubs his face against the fabric his head is resting on, the sensation of familiar smell and texture easing the headache growing behind his eyes. It's when he opens them that he realises he's been nuzzling a bunched-up shirt - Ben's shirt. Hux's carefully outlined thoughts scatter to the wind, leaving behind an uncomfortable weight in his chest.

Ever since Hux rented this place a year ago, Ben has been practically living here with him. Spending most nights, sometimes evenings, mornings. His things are everywhere. Hux looks at the flat with new eyes - his own, neat and organized _– impersonal_ – design ruined – _enlivened_ – by the mess of Ben's presence. When did he allow this to happen? When had he given up on his insistence for order in favour of Ben's chaos? When exactly did he begin to consider Ben to be more important than his military career?

 

 


	2. Desperate Times

Hux's mood is already sour when he comes home that evening. An interaction with his father can throw him off even on a good day, and things have just gone downhill from there. Dealing with a group of teen Cadets who have gone AWOL for three days, a meeting with an uncooperative prick in the budgetary control, an automatically generated response from a journal's editor that his paper has been rejected. Small things that nevertheless kept piling up and tearing at Hux's patience, seeking an outlet. So when Hux enters the much longed-for sanctuary of his little flat and the first thing he does is colliding face-first with the wall because he'd tripped on something in the hallway, it's the last straw.

Cursing, he looks down to check what he'd tripped on. Ben's shoe. One of the pair that the man has once again carelessly left where they fell off him on his way to shower. A nice, hot shower that Hux has been looking forward to all afternoon, only to come home to the sound of running water and finding out that Ben's used all the hot water - again. And just like that, Hux is at the end of his tether.

With a snarl, he picks up the shoe and throws it against the bathroom door. The dull thud doesn't have quite the calming effect he'd hoped for. There's a rustle of the shower curtain, the sound water gurgling down the drain intensifies and seconds later Ben peeks out of the bathroom, wet hair plastered to his forehead and a towel wrapped hastily around his waist.

On any other day, the sight of Ben's surprised, crooked grin breaking wide under the still confused, rapidly blinking eyes would make Hux smile. It would make him want to lick the droplets off Ben's upper lip, steer him back under the spray and perhaps make good use of the generously designed shower stall. But tonight, all Hux sees is the soapy water dripping onto the wooden floor in the hallway.

"Careful," he snaps, tiredness making the lid he keeps over the resentment that all of a sudden bubbles just under the surface dangerously thin. "Just once, could you not make a mess?"

"Oh." Ben looks down on the puddle spreading from under his feet and damaging the floorboards, as if he's only just realised he's wet. The grin slips from his face, replaced by a flicker of hurt. He quickly grabs another towel from the rack - a clean one, Hux notes with exasperation - and begins to wipe up the puddle, succeeding only in smearing around the dirt that's fallen off his shoe. Hux feels headache pulsing beneath his temples.

"Why do you always have to–" He cuts himself off, too frustrated to finish the question. It was a feeble one anyway, why do you always have to make a mess, and Hux is aware that it sounds petty, but at the same time he's brimming with the need to lash out at something, someone, and Ben is right there, a plethora of little nuisances in his wake. With a furious hunger, Hux lunges after another one.

"And could you not waste all the hot water before I get to use the shower? What's wrong with you? I live here and I'm tired of coming home and having to clean after you–"

"Whoa, 'Tidge, easy, okay? I'm sorry." Ben drops the ruined towel, stops the water, dries himself off perfunctorily and Hux can't even stand to look at him. He wanders into the living room and stops in the middle of it, aimless, while Ben dresses and keeps talking - Hux doesn't really pay attention. There's an edge to Ben's voice tonight, something unsure and scared, and on any other day Hux would have paused at it but tonight he's just too riled up. Ben, Ben, Ben, echoes through his boiling thoughts like tolling of an obnoxious bell, too messy, too much, too close, too dear, too dangerous.

"But I've been telling you for ages that you should have installed a tankless water heater here," Ben is saying now, unfairly clean scrubbed and heat-pinkened in his tight jeans and loose T-shirt and all the petulance of a man-child that's upset over having been told off.

"This is just what I needed, you telling me what to do in my own flat," Hux sneers. A small part of him cringes, guiltily pointing out that the 'flat' is only a substitute word for 'life' and that Ben has no chance of knowing that. The rest of him steamrolls on.  

"I already said I'm sorry," Ben retorts just as testily. There's something hard along the line of his shoulders, he's not hunching on himself as he usually does when he subconsciously tries to level out his height with Hux's; there's a determined tallness to where he stands, ready to defend his ground. Hux doesn't pause to think twice on why. He just sees a solid enough wall of defiance for him to rage against and he throws all his frustration and anger against it with relish.

"You're never sorry long enough," he doesn't accept the apology. "Ben, even a child would get it that there are some basic rules that just need to be followed."

"Rules," Ben repeats, somehow dull. He looks briefly away. "Okay, I can live with some rules I guess. It's not like I don't have enough of them everywhere, not like this place was the one I hoped I could chill out a bit. Fine, rules. Do I get a schedule, too? Is there a 'Ben'-slot in your daily time table?"

"I'm not the one who leaves every morning to - to dance!" Hux spits, unconsciously lacing the word with all of his father's second-hand venom. He'd rather swallow it back the moment it leaves his mouth but the damage is already done.

Ben takes a step towards him. A small one, and yet Hux fights the completely ungrounded urge to take a corresponding step back. Ben has never hurt him. He'd never even seen Ben hurting anyone. _There's a first time for everything_ , singsongs a little hysterical voice in his head.

"I _am_ a dancer," Ben says, oddly quiet. As if something inside him finally settled, and Hux has a dreadful feeling it hasn't been in his favour.

"In those five years we're together, you've never had a problem with that."

Hux's mouth, still intent on winning this fight, speaks for him. "Maybe it's just taken me five years to lose all my delusions."

Ben hangs his head low for a long moment and when he looks back up, there's a resigned look to him Hux has never seen, not once in five years.

"I see. What's the saying - you need space, right?"

The way he says it - it feels strangely like a repetition, as if he'd heard it before. Had said it to him before. And yet, Hux can't bring himself to say what the tight spot in his chest screams at him to say.

"Maybe. Yes."

"Well, isn't it lucky," Ben drawls, and this time there's definitely something ugly in his voice, "I need some space too. Guess that's settled."

He picks up his jacket, his wallet. Pulls on his shoes. Bites his lip when he takes in how much of him is still here, how many of his things have found their way into Hux's flat.

"I'll... drop by to take my stuff tomorrow," he says. It sounds sad. His face is turned away but Hux knows nonetheless. Five years.

 _Leave them here. I just need time to think. Just a little time to calm down and decide what I want. This doesn't have to be permanent._ Hux knows the words, knows how to form them, and yet they stick to the back of his throat, hopeless and mute. And Ben is not a mind-reader.

"Leave the key under the mat," he says aloud.

 

***

 

Techie slams the locker shut, presses his back against the cool metal of the door and counts to five. His breathing is out of control and his poor hammering heart punctuates every line of his mantra with a painful thud: _She doesn't bite. You've been at her place. She's been over at your place. She's as close to a friend as you're gonna get and. She. Does. Not. Bite._

For a reason fifteen year old Techie is unfortunately badly equipped to analyse, the prospect of any interaction with Rey still sets off a spiral of anxious turmoil inside his head. It seems it only gets worse as they grow up, not better. Techie's sure - within reason - that Rey doesn't even hate him anymore. They still bicker and turn up their noses at each other at school but lately it's been more of a comfortable habit than a true animosity.

Techie would never admit it to Rey's face but he still finds himself slightly intimidated by her. She's his match in the wits department, her innate talent with anything technical almost rivalling his, she's tiny but fearless, kind to the smaller children and defiant towards the upper-class ones. When Techie temporarily forgets about her being the bane of his existence, with her clever mouth and brash mind, he can admit he admires her. As a worthy adversary, of course.

But all that doesn't explain why there's a lump in his throat every time he wants to talk to her, why his palms get sweaty just at the thought of it. But there's no helping it. He needs to speak with her today, and after all, she doesn't bite.

Techie takes in a fortifying breath, peels his soaked-through shirt off the locker door, rounds the corner and nearly falls flat on his ass, the force of the impact sending stars dancing in front of his eyes. In front of him, equally winded Rey stumbles back and scowls.

"Just the one I've been looking for," she announces haughtily but there's no real bite to it. If anything, she looks uncharacteristically business-like.

"I've been looking for you, too," Techie rushes the words out before his nerves can wreck them beyond coherency. He's learned that after the first words are out, the rest of his speech comes easier.

Rey nods, not really surprised. "Great. S'ppose you already know what's this about, do you?"

Techie lowers his voice. Even though there's no one else near, he still feels uncomfortable discussing this out in the open.

"If it's about my brother breaking the heart of yours, then yes."

"Wow." Rey looks up to him with something like respect in her wide eyes. "I'd have thought you'd fight tooth and nail to defend your brother's innocence in this mess."

Techie shrugs. "I know Armie. He's good at heart, and he really tries, but nobody lives with our father and escapes unscathed. We just aren't exactly great at... communication."

Rey hums thoughtfully. "In this particular case I have to say my brother is just as fit to blame as yours. When it comes to talking about feelings, the men in our family usually run. To the other end of the galaxy if they could."

Techie is so glad that he can share his worries that he doesn't even mind the fact his newfound ally is his once-archenemy.

"What do you think happened? Armie is miserable. I've never seen him like this."

Rey chews on her bottom lip and frowns. "What happened? They probably realised they can't live without each other and their first reaction was knee-jerk panic."

"They're both about thirty," Techie points out incredulously.

"And?" Rey counters. "Dad was fifty-five when he ran away the last time. He always returns after a week or so. Mom says he just needs the break to get reminded why he's staying."

"But they've split over two weeks ago," Techie observes uneasily.

"Yeah, that's why I think they won't manage it on their own," Rey explains.

"You hated it when they got together the first time," Techie reminds her.

"So did you. But now I hate more that all Ben does is moping. So if you aren't going to help me..."

"I am," Techie blurts out. "Going to help you. I mean. I just have no idea what to do."

Rey regards him with her usual shrewdness. It's true that Techie's experience in the area of romance equals zero. But it won't always have to be this way, Rey realises. If you ask her, she thinks adolescence is doing good job on Techie. He's one of the tallest boys in class now, even though a bit thin, his hair has lightened into strawberry-blonde and sometimes he concedes to wearing glasses that make him look adorably serious. Girls in their class began to nudge-whisper that Techie is turning out cute. For some indiscernible reason, this gossip irks Rey rather badly.

Their respective parents aren't exactly good role models in this matter either. Rey has known Techie long enough to know that his parents could pose as statues in an ice palace. Nothing inspirational can come from there. As to her own parents... well, she can't explain that the idea of romance she grew around involved her father getting his foot stuck in asphalt and her mother driving him across the city to the ambulance in nothing but her costume for the demonstration to raise awareness about the persistent white-slave traffic - a costume that consisted from a set of very tiny, golden-looking bikini.

"We'll need advice," she concedes.

"We could look it up," Techie offers. "On the internet."

Rey can't come up with anything better and so she agrees. After all, what could go wrong...

 


	3. Twin Epiphanies

Rey tilts her head back and squints against the low afternoon sun.

" _Bazine's Boudoir,_ " she reads aloud the sign. ""You sure this is a good idea?"

"Everyone on the forum says that you can't go wrong with flowers," Techie takes a determined step past her. Attack is the best form of defence. He pulls the heavy glass door open and holds it for Rey to walk through. "And I looked through Father's ledger. This is where he orders flowers for Mother. He wouldn't go anywhere less than the best in the city, trust me on this."

"Yeah," Rey makes a face. It's only the tone Techie uses - not boasting, as the plain words of that statement would call for, and not just mocking or youthfully rebellious but genuinely ripe with contempt and sarcasm far too grave for his age - that keep her from bristling at the casual reminder of how rich Techie's family is. She's learned long ago that beneath the glittering surface of that pretentious bubble live a couple of very emotionally starved people.  

 _I'm honestly more disturbed by the fact that your father keeps records on how much he spends on romantic gestures for his wife in a goddamned ledger_ ,  Rey thought to herself. Another thing she's learned is not to shove in Techie's face how creepy his family actually is.

The shop is far bigger inside than it looks from the outside. Rey takes a few unsure steps amongst the vases on display, the various fragrances and overlaying, cloying dampness making her dizzy for a moment. She carefully touches a petal of a flower that she only ever saw in nature documentaries.

"I didn't know there was so much flowers in... in the whole galaxy!"

"And this is just our seasonal display," coos a smooth voice with professional affectation barely hiding a condescending edge. A woman wearing winged eyeliners like a weapon approaches them, pursing her flawlessly painted lips.

"What do we have here?" she purrs. "A nice little bouquet for Mommy's birthday, perhaps?"

Rey takes an instant dislike to her. She reminds her of that kind of people that shows up sometimes to ask after their father when he'd had another brush with the society their mother would rather not have him associating with anymore.

Techie keeps his eyes resolutely fixed on the hydrangeas. "It's actually for my... eeh, a friend. He and his, um, partner have recently broken up and we're trying to.." his fingers twitch in a lame gesture and he ends up rubbing them against his arm as if he's having a reaction to all that pollen in the air.

"Oooh, I see," the woman drawls. "Little matchmakers, how cute!"

As she walks through the shop, touching petals here and there seemingly in deep thought, Rey notices that she keeps sneaking glances at Techie, mischievous smirk playing around her lips. Rey gets a nagging feeling that this woman might know more about the situation that she's letting on. Has she perhaps recognised Techie? He bears strong resemblance with his brother, a resemblance they both could only inherit from their common parent, Hux Sr. Techie's said that his father was a frequent customer of Bazine. But does she actually like the family?

And then there's another thing gnawing at Rey's nerves: the vibes the woman's giving off. How her dress clings to her as if painted on. How she sways and slithers through the aisles of vases and pots, like a climbing plant herself - or perhaps a carnivorous one. Surely she doesn't... she must see Techie's still a minor. But she might be just the kind of woman who enjoys making inexperienced boys flustered and awkward.

"Any colour your _friend_ particularly likes?"

Techie blushes two shades more than he already was. "Pink," he mumbles. Bazine lets out a mocking laugh. Techie stares determinedly onto the floor. Rey frowns. It's just a colour, where do people get off on telling others what they should and shouldn't like? This whole concept of feminine and masculine colours seems just ridiculous to her.

"Then I have just the thing for you," Bazine smiles with false confidentiality and picks up a large flower with long stalk and a crown of pink, lily-shaped blossoms. Rey has to admit it looks quite striking.

"Something to match the theme..." Bazine mutters to herself, adding a couple of shorter, bright orange lilies, "and something to offset the colours..." she picks up a sprig of yellow carnations and quickly arranges a couple of big pale yellow flowers to round up the bouquet. The result looks actually very nice, albeit Rey suspects the main motive of it is to look posh.

"My my, Mademoiselle Bazine," a strange voice rumbles right behind Rey and she nearly knocks over a pot of hyacinths, "you really shouldn't make jokes like that."

Both kids exchange quick glances between the newcomer - an elderly, distinguished looking man - and Bazine's suddenly cold and carefully polite face.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. San Tekka."

The old man laughs, mellow and jovial, but his eyes are sharp. "Are you really forgetting your trade? No, I don't think so. Amaryllis for pride," he begins ticking off the flowers in the bouquet, "orange lilies for hatred, yellow carnation for rejection and narcissus for egotism. Really, my dear Bazine, this is the best 'you can stick it' message in flower language I've ever seen."

Behind her, Techie can't contain a pained whimper when he imagines the consequences of sending such an arrangement of flowers to his brother in Ben's name. Rey seriously contemplates knocking over something crystal-glass and heavy before making a run for it.

"Oh, really," Bazine responds flatly, the only sign of indignation at having been called out visible in the twitching around the corners of her eyes. "Who uses flower language these days anyway?" She disassembles the bouquet and disappears through the door behind the counter.

Rey gathers her wits around her quickly enough to stop their unexpected saviour from walking out of the shop. "Please, sir, could you tell us which flowers would go best into a "I am sorry, I want you back" bouquet?"

"If that's even possible," Techie adds.

Mr. San Tekka looks them over with fond crinkles around his eyes. "Matchmaking is a dangerous business," he tells them earnestly. "Your brothers are both adults, you should let them work it out on their own."

"How did you–" Techie gasps at the same time Rey splutters, "Who's said anything about brothers?"

"Oh, you can't deny the truth that there's family involved," Mr. San Tekka winks. "And in my life, I've seen a lot. Most of it several times, actually. You young people forget that we've been young too."

"We've got to do it," Rey says with resolution. "Would you help us, please?"

"Very well," Mr. San Tekka tilts his head as he surveys the shop display, "I'd start with purple hyacinths. They say "I am sorry" in such a sweet way, don't you think...."

Rey and the elderly gentleman walk around the shop, picking up flowers to add to the ever-growing bundle in Rey's arms and chatting excitedly, and Techie lets his mind wander. That was a terribly close call. He's sure Armie would know what the flowers say. That miss Bazine was awful. Techie's skin crawled whenever she spoke, and her flaunted sensuality made him want to claw through the floorboards and dig deep enough to bury himself there. His parents never bothered to give him The Talk but he's read enough to be aware that his helpless awkwardness around girls is in fact a sign of his own blooming sexuality. He knows that, rationally, and yet he's terrified by the mixed signals his rapidly maturing body is sending him. Adolescence is simply awful, Techie thinks. He feels skittish like a young colt and excitable like a puppy and at the same time his heart is heavy as if the entire Earth's population trampled over it...

Techie snaps out of his morose brooding at the sound of Rey's laughter. He looks after her among the flowers and when he finds her, something catches in his throat at the sight.

Rey stands, both arms full of various flowers, and laughs as she tries in vain to flick a stray lock of hair from falling into her eyes. The light coming through the shop window is catching on her skin and paints it golden, her laugh is like silver fountain in the middle of a desert and for the first time ever, Techie realises that the lump stuck in his throat whenever he's around her is in fact words.

Words like "Rey, you look beautiful today," and "Rey, would you like to see a movie with me," and "Rey, I think I like you."

Yes, Techie thinks as he remembers to shut his gaping mouth. He really likes her. He's in trouble.

 

*

 

Rey's stomach growls ferociously just as they're passing a baker's shop. The smell of freshly baked goods swerves her right off the sidewalk and in through the swinging door and all Techie can do is follow and make sure the carefully wrapped bouquet won't get crushed in her haste.

Rey has her brother's metabolism. If Techie didn't know any better he'd think she'd spent her childhood somewhere in a desert, starving for a few mouthfuls every day. Techie watches her dropping crumbs down the neckline of her shirt, feeling a light tug of something in the middle of his narrow chest - yes, now he can recognise the something as fondness. He tears his eyes away before she can catch him staring somewhere inappropriate. His stomach growls in sympathy.

"Why don't you get something?" Rey asks with her mouth full, waving at the display. Techie follows her gesture with a sad, longing gaze.

"Nothing I can eat," he says resignedly.

Rey scowls at this. This place is one of the best bakeries in the city, if her mother is to believe. Leia Organa Solo's guilty pleasure is baking, and as she burns about half of her attempts, she's built an impressive list of go-to shops to save the day over the years. Of course, a kid like Techie is probably used to something really fancy. Rey hates it when Techie's posh is showing.

"You could at least give it a chance."

"I really couldn't," Techie shakes his head. "They've got just two pastries gluten-free and they've put cream filling into it."

Realisation dawns onto Rey and instantly she fees her cheeks burn with shame. "And you're..."

"Lactose-intolerant, too."

Oh God, Rey thinks. Starving in a shop full of food. The last bite of her pastry turns sour in her throat.

"Maybe they've got something with soya milk..."

"Guess what," Techie says grimly.

"Oh my God," Rey can't not say it aloud this time. "That's why you never got any sweets in your lunch box?"

Techie shifts the bouquet from one hand to another. "Do carrot sticks count?"

"No!" Rey almost shouts, surprised at her own indignation. "I mean, there's gluten-free flour, and lactose-free milk, I know it's super expensive but surely your mom could bake you cookies you–"

"Father says that physical weakness does not warrant extra treatment," Techie cuts right into the middle of her rant. She stares at him, mouth agape for a moment, before the mounting rage in her finally finds outlet in words.

"Your goddamned father doesn't think you deserve even the slightest acknowledgement of the condition you were _born_ with?"

"Add it to the 'Techie's father is a jerk' tally," Techie sighs - and then he, unexpectedly, grins. "I know you keep it," his grin widens and his eyes sparkle, "and it's okay, he really is."

Rey still can't wrap her head around it. She's always thought Techie was so thin because... well, because. She never questioned it, really. It has never occurred to her that the real, terrible reason behind it was that his parents simply weren't giving him enough food.

She belatedly feels awful for every time she showed any antipathy to Techie because of the social status of his family. In her own home, she could remember a couple of hand-to-mouth episodes when her father was between jobs but she never once had to starve, emotionally or physically. Even that one time at eight when she decided she'd be a vegetarian, her mother simply cooked extra veggies for her and waited patiently for the phase to run its course.

And here Techie was, grinning. As if growing up in such a home couldn't break a person. But Techie... as much as he looks frail, Rey knows he really, really isn't. He's deceptively strong, and incredibly resilient, and when he smiles like that he's cute...

...wait. What?

Rey stares at her own and Techie's reflection in the mirror lining one of the shop walls and absently licks the stray crumbs from the corner of her mouth. She likes Techie. She likes him very much. Oh, bother.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the amazing [art](http://the-pudding-is-a-lie.tumblr.com/post/159069032647/i-had-a-lot-of-fun-with-this-commission-for-the) made by @the-pudding-is-a-lie !!!! We are so blessed!


	4. Ghosts of the Past

They don't have a plan on how to go about the actual delivery of the flowers and in the end they don't need one. Just when Techie's about to press the doorbell button, shuffling his sock-clad feet on the mat in front of his brother's apartment and half-not-listening to Rey's whispered instructions on how to run _up_ stairs, not _down_ them - just then Rey's rant suddenly stops mid-word and she crouches down to pick up something.

"Hey!" Techie whispers as loud as he dares, mindful of his brother currently showering inside the flat. They can hear the water running.

"That's my brother's! Leave that!"

Rey holds up an envelope - one that didn't make it through the mail slot and ended up half hidden beneath the mat - and studies it with a frown of concentration. "It's from the Academy headquarters."

"It's Armie's private mail! Put it down!"

"Techie." Rey's eyes are very wide and she clutches at the envelope with trembling fingers. "I don't know why but I've got - I feel that this is _very important_." And she tears the envelope open before Techie can as much as whimper in protest.

Folded, typed letter falls out and Rey swallows the few lines with darkening eyes. Pale and silent, she hands it over to Techie. He doesn't want to take it - it still feels wrong, a breach of privacy - but her sudden eerie stillness makes him for once throw his manners to the wind.

"It’s… it’s specifications for his position in… I– _mmmphhhf!_ "

Techie nearly squeaks the word aloud but Rey’s hand over his mouth is quicker.

"Sorry," she whispers and removes it. Her palm tingles where she touched pink, soft lips. 

"Iraq?!" Techie whispers hoarsely, properly chastised but no less incredulous. For all his height, he looks suddenly very small.

"He's going to Iraq," Rey nods, grim and tight-lipped. She gives the bouquet one regretful look and grabs Techie by the elbow. The boy shakes all over.

"Leave the flowers. Sooner or later, he'll find them on his own. We need a change of strategy. This ain't fun anymore..."

Without thinking, she puts her arm around Techie's back and rubs soothing circles up and down his arm. She knows that Armitage means the world to Techie. The only one of his family who really cares about him. No, this isn't fun anymore...

 

***

 

"Ben. You've got to _do_ something!"

Ben reads the curt, matter-of-fact propositions over and over, feeling strangely blank. Hux is going to be deployed overseas. He's been planning it for a while. Planning a future that doesn't include Ben.

"Why should I be doing anything about it?" he hears himself say. Empty. Pointless.

Rey stomps her foot. "Because it matters to you! And to Techie - if Armitage leaves, he'll be - he–" she stops, unable to put into words what she's feeling on some deep, yet unexplored level. If Hux leaves - if something happens to him and he doesn't come back - Techie will break. Rey can't bear the thought.

"It's Hux's life," Ben points out.

"It's yours, too!"

"He kicked me out of it." He sounds hurt and not at all like the adult he's supposed to be.

"And you all too gladly let him! Who are you and what have you done to my brother? The Ben I know would have never just accepted this without putting up a fight." Rey sometimes despairs over the future of their family if it's going to rest in the hands of her moronic brother but looking back on their parents' antics, it's clear that Ben is only living up to the Solo family's legacy.

"This isn't schoolyard games," Ben says, his patience visibly wearing thin. "Armitage was practically married to the Army before I met him, and his career has always been his priority. I was a fool to think I'd ever be anything more than a distraction."

"That's bullshit–" Rey hisses, or tries to, because in that moment Leia walks through the door, fixing her with a stern glare.

"Language, Rey."

Rey rolls her eyes - such a perfect image of Ben when he was her age that Leia has to suppress a grin.

"I'm not a god _darned_ princess," Rey mutters, emphasising the euphemism out of pure adolescent spite.

"Being the sister to a drama queen makes you one," Leia deadpans mercilessly even as Rey barks out a laugh and Ben replicates her earlier eye-roll.

"Sorry for interrupting, children, but I couldn't help to overhear..."

Ben looks ready to bolt. Years of experience has taught him that any speech beginning with the address "children" is bound to be embarrassing. Leia, sensing this with unerring motherly accuracy, closes the door, trapping all three of them inside Rey's attic room.

"God knows I've been avoiding this for too long," she sighs, pulls out a chair from Rey's desk and motions to both her children to sit down on the bed.

"I didn't want to talk about it - call me a coward, yes, I've been one. I was telling myself it'd be better to wait till Rey's grown up - and suddenly you are. You grow up so fast..."

"Mom, please," Rey mumbles, all cheek and fight leaving her in the face of Leia's unusual sombreness.

"Rey. Ben. I know you both always had a sort of idol in your grandfather."

Ben straightens, suddenly paying attention. For the longest time, he indeed did idolize Anakin Skywalker even though the old man died before Ben was even born.

"We only ever told you how good he was - a war hero, a self-sacrificing friend, a great soldier. Yes, there was much good in him, we haven't lied about that. We just never told you about... other things. The other side of it."

Leia fidgets with the frayed end of her dressing gown belt, frowning in search for words.

"Your grandfather always wanted to be a good man - a good citizen. He happened to be the unfortunate age when the war in Vietnam broke out - and he volunteered for the draft, he wanted to fight, to serve this country, to become a hero. I don't know if he knew his girlfriend was expecting when he left... maybe he wouldn't have done it if he knew. But he was young, and hot-headed very much like you are, Ben, and the propaganda at the time was terribly efficient so... he left."

Rey unconsciously huddles closer to Ben. Seeing them like this, one always there for the other, helps Leia in her resolve to tell the story.

"He wasn't there when I and your uncle Luke were born. He came back about two years later and... your grandma, Padmé, she always said that the Anakin who came back wasn't the same who left. He was a hero, no mistake. Remember that old battered helmet we keep? He saved his whole unit, the lives and limbs of many men. But he lost a hand and a leg to landmine and his face was disfigured in a napalm strike, and God only knows what other horrors he'd seen.

"You've got to understand that your grandma didn't mind the scars. She loved him very much and they got married right after the war and I think that he loved us all - but he was changed, and some days my mother couldn't recognise the man she fell in love with. There were days when we had to be kept out of home for our own sake - episodes when Anakin would attack and hurt people he loved and not remember it afterwards. We all wanted to help but he kept closing himself off, terrified of the monster he was turning into. It was... it broke my mother's heart. She was still so young when she died. Your uncle Luke went to live with a family of Skywalkers, Anakin's cousin or something, and I went into foster care."

"That's why your maiden name was Organa," Rey breathes. "You never told me why when I asked."

"Bail and Breha Organa were the best parents one could ask for," Leia says firmly before she adds, softly: "But they weren't my own parents."

"What happened to our grandfather?"

Leia bites her lip. This is the hardest part. "Luke went to search for him, once. Found him in a home for veterans... a sad, old, broken and lonely man. I think they made peace before Anakin died. I never did. I refused to see him. I was so angry with him - for leaving mother, us.. I regret it now. So much. Ben–" and she grasps her son's hand, "–don't make the same mistake."

Ben's eyes are wet and his lower lip trembles. Leia's heart aches for him. It's too much to take at once - learning that the man whose image he worshipped as a kid was in fact a victim - a broken, dangerous man.

"What do I do?" he says at last. "He's not letting me in."

Leia and Rey know without asking who is the "he" Ben is talking about. As if ever there was another "he" in Ben's life, before and now and possibly forever.

Then Ben suddenly turns to his sister, his eyes big and imploring. "Rey..."

She crosses her arms. "And _now_ you want my help." But she can't keep the grin from breaking over her face. All will be well. She and Techie can sort out this mess yet.


	5. Desperate Measures

_from:Techie > Can you come get me please?_

Hux is a bit puzzled by the message. It's so out of the blue, after several days of Techie giving him a wide berth and keeping radio silence. But it's not unusual for Techie to call upon his adored brother's help.

_to:Techie > Where are you?_

_from:Techie > At Starkiller. You know the bar?_

Hux types very fast now.

_to:Techie > What are you doing in a bar? You're not being served I hope? What you've gotten yourself into?_

Techie smirks at the glowing screen of his phone, vibrating with the incoming call. He swipes it away unanswered. "This should get him here at lightspeed."

Next to him, Rey claps his shoulder with an appreciative grin. "That was sneaky."

Ben can't help but to grin too even though his stomach is curled up in a ball of nerves. "That was pretty ruthless," he remarks. Techie fixes him with a look far too serious for his age.

"I've never cried wolf to trick my brother," he warns him. "You have this one chance. Don't make a mess of it."

Ben blinks. For a moment, Techie looked so much like 'Tidge it startled him. _Another fine officer in the making_ , he thinks ruefully. "All right," he says instead, "finish your milkshakes, you two, and shoo before I get arrested for corrupting the morals of youth."

If Ben was his usual observant self he'd notice how closely Techie follows Rey as they dutifully scamper off from the bar. How effortlessly they fit into each other's personal space, the natural tilt of their heads towards each other, the way each of them keeps glancing at the other when the other isn't looking. But as it is, Ben is completely preoccupied with staring into the glass of vodka he ordered to boost his courage and is now too nervous to even swallow. He's going to meet Hux - after weeks of evasion, pride and misery. He has to get this right.

He looks around. The kids have chosen the place well. This is where they had their first date. Ben still remembers seeing Hux walking through that door the first time - Ben was early, and uncomfortably aware that he might have seemed too eager, but damn it, he _was_ eager. Even after having met Armitage for just a couple of minutes in a darkening park and with their belligerent younger siblings as the disappointed audience, he already knew that this was something special. Something worth to be keen on.

He still remembers the way Hux looked that day. Younger but not any softer, walking through the door in his upright perfection and immediately subtly commanding the whole place with just his presence. Everyone's gaze was at least momentarily drawn to him - to his pressed trousers and crisp button-down with the cuffs rolled up just so, the skin of his wrists smooth and cream-pale and seemingly glowing from inside, dotted with golden constellations of freckles. Ben was smitten then and there and now he wants to laugh at himself for ever thinking he could be better off without Hux.

He's so caught up in recalling every detail of Hux's first impression on him that he almost misses the moment Hux walks into the bar now, for real - jacket buttoned not quite all the way up and two faint spots of flush high on his cheeks the only signs of haste and agitation visible on his otherwise meticulous appearance. Ben's heart skips a guilty beat - Armitage has probably run all the way here.

Grey-blue eyes scan the dim-lit room and Ben gives a little wave before Hux can work himself into a proper panic at not seeing his little brother anywhere. A quick succession of expressions passes over Hux's face - confusion, surprise, almost-relief (and Ben feels a flutter of hope at that), annoyance and more confusion - before it settles on cautious wariness, all little wrinkles and laugh lines smoothed into blankness under cold, guarded eyes. But Ben knows that face as well as he knows his own and he can see the cracks - the way Hux's eyes occasionally flicker downwards, unable to hold their usual haughty look, and the unhappy pinch to his mouth that usually wears smirk like armour. It is either embarrassment or regret - and for what? For their earlier fight or for their current meeting? Ben hopes for the former.

There's a brief moment where Hux seems to be going through some internal debate and then he's steeling his shoulders and walking over to the unoccupied stool next to Ben's. He perches himself up and gives and unseeing look to the display of drinks.

Ben slides him his own untouched vodka. "Sorry for the scare."

Hux's mouth quirks and he accepts it with a curt nod. When he wipes his mouth and puts the empty glass back on the counter he looks collected again, almost his usual self. "So, this idea–"

"–wasn't his," Ben puts in quickly. "And they're fine, had a milkshake each, Techie almond. You know I wouldn't let anything happen to them."

"Them?" Hux sounds almost amused now. Perhaps at the situation, perhaps at Ben's anxious babbling.

"..... it was Rey's idea," Ben admits. "You wouldn't answer my texts," he adds and immediately considers biting off his tongue because every fraction Hux has loosened up to now is gone, his defences up and the cold, wary glint back in his eyes.

"Yeah," he says slowly, deliberately, "I said I needed time, and I seem to recall you saying you needed it too."

Ben feels his chance slipping through his fingers and it's too much to handle, having Hux so close and yet so distant at the same time, all the happy memories he has of this place making the present loss all the more acute. Hux is just as beautiful as he's always been, eyelashes casting golden shadows over sharp cheekbones and Ben wants it back, needs it more than he needs breathing.

"I - I don't want any more time," he blurts out, desperately trying to come up with words good enough to keep Hux listening, good enough to convince him, good enough to express the yearning of the empty space that gapes and aches within Ben. He couldn't last a few weeks of Hux mad at him, how is he supposed to last a year? How is he supposed to live out the rest of his life if something happens to Hux and he never gets to tell him what he really wants?

"Well, what _do_ you want, Ben?" Hux's eyes are searching, face twisted the cautious side up and hiding something inside and his body is already half-turned to go and Ben knows that if he doesn't speak in the next second Hux will leave and no trick will ever bring him back. He opens his mouth and...

"I'll marry you." There. That happened. Ben is too frozen by his own statement to even start pulling his hair out or despairing over his own awkwardness in any other way. Somehow, the ground didn't open beneath him and didn't swallow him whole like he deserves. The reality is far worse: in front of him, Hux is gaping. And getting very red.

"That's...shouldn't it be a question or something?" he manages at last. His voice sounds croaky and there's a definite hysterical edge to it.

"So they couldn't send you overseas," Ben adds, overcome with a sudden need for a logical reason. He has a sinking feeling that he's digging himself into a hole but his mouth just can't stop talking. "They can't send you away if you're married, can they?"

Of all possible things, this has been precisely the worst one to say. Hux's face goes from red to pale in seconds, fingers clenching around the glass tight enough to break it.

"Of course they can, you moron," he cracks through gritted teeth. "Married soldiers get shipped off all the time. Men become fathers while overseas, what did you think this was, eighteenth century?"

"Oh," Ben mumbles, flinching, and Hux's face twists into an ugly sneer.

"Oh indeed! But _thank_ you for offering! It must have been such a noble sacrifice!"

"What? That wasn't - you think - just because–"

Hux's words are clipped now, coming fast like hissing bullets. "I don't even want to know how did you find out. But _this_ is precisely why I didn't want to tell you in the first place. Because you're incapable of handling it, you jealous, possessive, immature child!"

The words hang in the air between them for one shocked moment. Ben feels his lips move around them, trying them out, barely above a whisper.

"Possessive..."he shakes his head. His eyes sting and his chest feels so tight that taking a deep breath could burst it. He gets to his feet, prays they hold him up. One step turns to two, then to three.

"Ben, wait–" pipes a voice behind him, suddenly uncontrolled, small and pleading but Ben can't wait. He's done waiting. He'd ruined his chance, he'd asked Hux to marry him and had the words thrown back in his face and it's too much.

Ben first stops five blocks later, lungs burning out of his chest and vision blurred with tears.

 

***

 

It's getting dark outside when Hux clicks on the last button and gets up to collect the printed out pages. Checking the order, stacking them, stapling them together - his hands go through the practiced motions on autopilot and his mind is free to wander for a while.

That meeting with Ben wasn't his brightest moment, and that might be the understatement of the century. He regrets the words he'd spit out in a fit of rage and hurt feelings. Looking back, he can see he misinterpreted Ben's intentions. Yes, Ben had proposed with all the grace of bull in a china shop and the timing was simply terrible but the fact remains that he did - and since when had any one of them both been great at communication? Hux knows Ben, he should have been able to understand him.

His hands don't shake when he picks up the pen and positions it above the dotted line. He's making the right decision, he's certain of it. There. He waits for the signature to dry and closes the folder, making sure the pages are neatly aligned and not a single corner is sticking out.

This is done then. Now to fixing what he still can.

He picks up the phone. "Techie? It's me. Do you have Rey's number?"

 _"Why?"_ Techie stipulates at the other end. Still mad at me for not telling him, Hux thinks and sighs. But before he can start begging, there's a voice coming faintly from some distance: _"Is that him? Nah, it's fine if he knows. About time, actually."_ Then there's a scratching sound and Rey's voice rings directly into Hux's year, clear and accusing.

_"What can you possibly want now, Armitage?"_

"I need to see him, Rey." Hux glances at the clock and idly wonders what is Rey doing with Techie so late in the afternoon. Do they perhaps have another school project?

_"So you could hurt him again? I don't think so."_

 "So I could apologize." The words are not quite ready to come out into the world but are necessary. "I... look, Rey, there are things I'd really like to discuss with _him_ , okay? And he's not answering my calls."

 _"Adults,"_ he hears Rey muttering, _"really wouldn't get anywhere without us."_

She sounds as if she has the phone stuck between her face and her shoulder, and there's a rustle of something soft and a snap of a velcro tearing open.

 _"You're lucky,"_ she says, clear again. _"I've got some tickets for the dance show the Knights are giving tonight. I got one free for Techie but you're going to pay for yours, big man."_   

Hux has to laugh despite himself. "Deal."

 

 


	6. A Way To Man's Heart

 

The club is small and cramped and at first glance unfit for any kind of dance performance at all. The small stage in the back is drowning in darkness and try as he might peering around the corners, Hux can't see any sound system in place, no speakers, no mixing console. What are they planning to dance to?

He dodges another careless elbow and scans the place for any suitable - free enough not to get trampled upon – spot for the kids. Rey and Techie aren't the youngest here, at least that's a consolation.

Then, in response to some unspoken signal, the crowd gradually quietens. Conversations trickle out to whispers, directionless mingling slows down. A sense of anticipation fills the air. Unconsciously, Hux holds his breath, his attention drawn to the dark stage. Nothing to be seen there.

A sound. Faint, at first, but strengthening with every beat - clapping, single sharp cracks penetrating the silence. More joining, multiple hands, unseen, scattered around the room - Hux can't see anyone to be sure but the sounds seems to be coming from every direction. The tempo easy and almost hypnotic, picking up on the natural rhythm of heartbeat, and Hux finds himself wanting to join on, palms tingling, fingers tapping. _Clap, clap, clap-clap_ , over and over, chocolate brown of the curtains behind the stage and dark bitter smell of coffee in the air and warmth of many bodies suffusing the dark, all that is quickly taking Hux under and transporting him to some place ruled only by reflexes and instincts, visceral, primal place made of sensations and flesh.

A single beam of light pierces the dark, the dust particles dancing in a lazy halo around two motionless figures frozen in the middle of the stage. Hux's throat goes a bit dry at the sight - the men are naked to the waist and barefoot, the loose white pants with a cord instead of a belt riding low on their hips. The simple lines and pure white of the cotton accentuates the sculpted musculature of their upper torsos and the olive sheen of their skin. One of them is Ben, with his hair pulled up and away from his face, and oh, Hux would know those shoulders and that narrow waist anywhere, and the other is a guy Hux's never seen, a short and stocky one, with a mane of dark curls, round dark eyes and full lips.

"It's a dance-off," Rey whispers next to Hux, pulling herself up to her tiptoes to get a better look across the crowd.

"A competition?" Hux whispers back.

"Yeah. It's capoeira - a mix between dancing and martial arts. Hey, beanpole, could you move a bit?" she nudges Techie who gives ground wordlessly, fascinated with the scene on the stage.

The two dancers shake hands, and taking a couple of fluid steps back, they begin to circle each other. Like beasts of prey summing each other up, moving on soft feet and bent knees, movements prowling. And then, without any change in the rhythm or a blink in the light as a warning, it starts.

Bodies bend and crouch and flip, feet kick and fly through the air in perfect bows, quick succession of incredibly coordinated movements, every spasm of muscles a show of raw power and precise control. It's not a dance - at least not anything that Hux has ever considered a dance - but it's not a fight either. Feet fly close above bowed heads but never land a hit, powerful kicks part the air around shifting ribs but never brush the skin. It's pure expression - of control, strength and passion - and Hux is breathless with the beauty of it. The dancers move in and out of the pool of light, stark flashes of skin and soft shadows painting their bodies like works of art, almost too fast for human eye. It's more than a dance or a fight - it's _life_.

Hux remembers Ben once spinning poetry about it - the history of the dance, blood and defiance and freedom. Men have died for capoeira. For the first time ever, Hux thinks he can understand not just what it is to _dance_ , but to _be_ a dancer. He'd seen and admired Ben's dancing on countless occasions before, contemporary ballet and street dance routines and everything in between, but never anything like this.

But after a while it's clear even to him that something is wrong. Ben's spins lack the proper coordination, his flips are not smooth enough. His opponent takes over his moves with ease, blocks his kicks, crouches lower, jumps higher, slowly backing Ben off the stage.

Through the flurry of movement it's hard to tell but in the rare moments when Ben stills it seems to Hux as if he's not entirely _there_ on the stage, in the flow. His heart is not in his dancing tonight. There's a frustrated stomping coming from the group close to the stage - the Knights, Hux realises - and even Rey is pouting in annoyance, trying to make herself bigger or shout to be heard, to break Ben out of the spell. And Hux knows, deep inside, what kind of a spell it is: Ben is losing because he believes he's already lost.

A moment of stillness between beats - both dancers are coming down from a series of somersaults and settling into the opening position - and Hux takes his chance.

"Ben!"

The dark head whips up and golden eyes lock on Hux, unerring even in the semi-darkness of the club and the dense crowd. Never before has Hux been so glad for his height and fiery hair colour.

"Ben," he repeats soundlessly now, just mouthing the word, hoping Ben can read the message across the distance. _"Fight."_

It's not an order even though Hux stands tall and proud when he says it. It's a plea. _Fight_ , not just here and now but _for_ _us_ , _because I am going to and I don't want you to give up on me_. It's just a single moment, between one clap and the next, but Ben seems to have understood - because when he starts dancing again, he fights.

Whoops and excited chatter spread through the crowd, people flock to the stage and Hux has to deliver a couple of well aimed elbows because he doesn't want to miss this for dear life. If Ben was light and shadow before, now he's fire and death. Hux doesn't have any better words for it. His movements seem to defy gravity, his entire body moves like a ball of coiled lightning, untouchable, unstoppable. Someone in the crowd starts chanting, a simple tune of a few repeated words in some language Hux only half recognises and people pick up on it, the clapping intensifying, quickening. The very air crackles with energy, Ben's opponent reduced to dodging and feebly replicating what Ben performs with deadly accuracy, and with a last thunderous shout, the dance is over.

The two competitors stand against each other as they did in the beginning, breathing heavily but relaxed now, grinning. Both the Knights and another dance group surge up onto the stage, all high-fives and cheers, and the chant returns, people clearly demanding an encore. But Ben has eyes only on Hux.

 _I'm so proud of you_ , Hux tries to tell him with a smile, suddenly awkwardly aware of the nudges and winks of people around him who noticed the earlier exchange. And then Ben is motioning to his mates to clear the stage before him - and the crowd under parts itself like waters - and Hux, frozen with disbelief is watching Ben take two steps back and _leap_ down, landing among the cheers and rising up in a series of spins like the show-off he is. _It's just like Dirty Dancing_ , Hux realises with a growing sense of hilarity, _and I'm the fucking Baby._

He's peripherally aware of all the people - shouting, whooping, whistling around them - but all he can see is Ben in his bare-chested glory and with eyes like burning stars, swallowing the rest of the world. One last step of space between them feels like a physical barrier and Hux can't look away if he tries.

"I hear you're a general," Ben grins - the words from their first meeting - and the tension breaks. Hux laughs, and the mirroring smile on Ben's face lights up every nerve along Hux's spine, pooling deep in his guts in a sharp pang of belated regret - he'd almost lost this. Almost.

"Far from it, I'm afraid. But I hear you're a fighter."

Ben briefly looks over his shoulder. Several members of his group are giving him thumbs up.

"Yeah, I am. But only when there's something worth fighting for," Ben breaks character, that big grin melting into something softer, tender and shy.

"Hux... I just wanted to tell you, if you go - wherever you choose to go, I am fine with it. I'll support your decision."

The prepared words lodge and wither in Hux's throat. "You'd do that?"

Ben nods, earnest. "I would. I _will_. Just - only tell me I can wait here for you." He looks down, biting his lip. "I'll wait, if you promise you'll come back to me."

Something shatters and lifts inside Hux, a weight so massive he wasn't even aware he was living with it anymore. People in his life used to come and go, use him and be used in his never ending climb up the career ladder. Nobody has ever offered to stay and wait.

He sways forwards and Ben is there, big arms and soft mouth and devil may take whoever is looking on, Hux doesn't care for anything that isn't kissing every bit of Ben's face he can reach.

"I've signed up for six months," he says, breathless between kisses and still unsure, warning. " I need it, the opportunity, the challenge - but I've made a compromise. You still up to it?"

Ben laughs, and if it sounds a bit wet it's no matter in the noise around. "I've been up for a year. Six months is... better. Definitely."

"We'll get married when I get back, okay?"

Ben holds him so close that Hux can't breath for a moment but that's fine, for tonight he can live on adrenaline and kisses. "Shouldn't it be a question or something?" teases a whisper at his ear.

They laugh, and dance to a music only they can hear, forgotten in the middle of the crowd. On the stage the show goes on as it always has to, other members of the two groups dancing off to the rhythm of clapping.

"Oh, I've got to get Techie," Hux remembers some time later.

"'t's fine," Ben mumbles, unwilling to lift his face from the crook of Hux's neck. "The Knights have taken them to a diner and Dad's giving them a lift home."

"Oh, good," Hux relaxes back into their semi-private bubble. "By the way, have you noticed how much time Rey and Techie spend together...?"

 

***

 

The next morning, Techie wakes up from his reverie over the latest math problem with a sound of something heavy landing on his desk. He looks up into Rey's carefully neutral face and then back down. It's a plastic lunch box.

"Open it," Rey says impatiently.

With some trepidation, Techie does. His newly discovered feelings for Rey hasn't changed the fact that they still are school arch-enemies, and as of yesterday night the reason for their temporary alliance has officially ceased to exist. Their brothers are back together and happy.

There's a piece of cake inside the box. It looks soft and supple, with rich cream filling and darker spots of juicy fruits. Plums - no, figs, Techie realises when he takes a careful sniff.

"The base is ground poppy seed and eggs and stuff, there's no flour," Rey explains, "and the cream is almond. If you're allergic to figs Mom's gonna kill me."

"I'm not," Techie breathes out and takes a worshipful bite. It's heaven. It's the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

He thinks, when he opens his eyes, that for a second there is a smile as big as the sun on Rey's face, but when he blinks it's gone, her beautiful eyes back to their default stormy grey.

"Good," she nods curtly, "I want that box empty this afternoon. No protests, or you'll make Mom sad."

Techie swallows hurriedly, the sweet coating of his tongue making the words just slip out. "I love y– your Mom." _Uuuh, that was close_.

Rey's face does something complicated before it settles on gentle, impish smile. "Yeah. She's great."

**Author's Note:**

> This work wouldn't be possible without frapandfurious - [ Tumblr here ](http://obsessions-and-dreams.tumblr.com) and her amazing ideas, cheering on and of course writing for this series.


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